Dumbledore and the Mirror of Erised
by peskipiksi
Summary: Dumbledore remembers his previous encounter with the Mirror of Erised, and his past life.


Dumbledore and the Mirror of Erised  
  
Dumbledore waited in the shadows for Harry. He knew the boy would come eventually, he would just have to bide his time. Dumbledore didn't mind waiting, it gave him a chance to think about his day, and his students, and what little mischieves they'd been up to. Marietta Edgecombe, a second-year Ravenclaw, was caught charming her hair in the corridors before lunch. Michael Woods, fourth-year Hufflepuff, fought a seventh-year Slytherin near Greenhouse 4. What was the boy thinking? Fred and George Weasley were in the kitchens again...  
  
It had been perhaps an hour when this began to pall as he finished mulling over his students. He looked around the room where the Mirror was kept. There was no furniture save the chair in which Dumbledore sat. It was a large, cold stone chamber, with little sunlight streaming through the high windows. The sun set early in the dead of winter. There were not many things to think about in the chamber. If I am going to continue watching over Harry in this manner, thought Dumbledore, I must see about getting a chess set. Or perhaps a nice bookcase. Yes, that would do.   
  
Dumbledore looked to the right. There was a bookcase along the far wall. Well, the Room of Requirement had a tendancy to do that. Having taken care of that matter, Dumbledore turned his thoughts to the Mirror. The Mirror of Erised...it wielded a strange power over men, but he could understand why. Seeing what was almost impossible to acheive. Getting a glimpse at wildest fancy and fortune...yes, he understood its power, but that hadn't stopped him from being ensnared by it once.   
  
It had been 1968. Dumbledore had been Headmaster at Hogwarts for exactly twenty years. An unexplainable feeling crept over him, and he decided to go explore his castle. It was funny how a person could live somewhere for so long and still not know every secret it had to offer. Dumbledore discovered a new room on the seventh floor, draped in dusty velvet, that seemed to serve no purpose but to host an gilded and overly ornate frame. It was empty, the subject of the painting was conspicuously missing, as was the background. Strange. He left the velvet room and turned left, and went down the staircase he found there. He cut across two empty classrooms, and through a dusty unused corridor, and came upon an unremarkable door. Dumbledore had already learned the lesson that the plainest things often held the best secrets, so he turned the knob and pushed open the door. He found himself standing in the chamber, stony and silent.   
  
A mirror, along the far wall...well, there had been a room to host a frame, why not one for a mirror? Dumbledore travelled the length of the room and came to a stop in front of the mirror. Its surface, glassy and smooth, reflected only his face, which was admittedly more youthful than now. Wait...the image changed. It was still himself, but his robes changed from the familiar dark green to black. His face, younger, with the wrinkles smoothed out. His blue eyes, staring back at himself, had lost their wise and kind quality, but were impetuous with youth. His hair deepened and became the brown he had posessed in his adolescence. And standing next to him was a girl, also in black robes. She had the most familiar curly brown hair and her eyes...her eyes were almost black, but sparkled from some unknown light inside.   
  
Rose, thought Dumbledore. His heart was aflame and his head was spiralling back through memories lost in time...Rose. She had been his one true love. His seventh year at Durmstrang, he had been so lost among the dark students who walked the halls. He felt so different from them all, so estranged from all his peers, but Rose had been by his side through this tumultuous time. Another difficult memory...he remembered the night he proposed to her. It had been at the Yule Ball, during an attempt at bringing back the Triwizard Tournament. Dumbledore was now teaching, at Hogwarts, and Rose was working at Madame Malkin's. He had taken her into a secluded area, hidden by rosebushes, and sat down next to her. In the most perfect and complete moment of his life, she accepted. But they had never been married.  
  
Grindelwald. It was 1943, and Hogwarts was out for holiday. Times were dark for Muggles and Wizards alike. The Dark forces were rising up and claiming the world, bit by bit. This was a time of great change in the Wizarding community, and not all good. It was during this summer, 1943, that the last and most horrible of the Unforgivable Curses, as they were now called, was complete. The Killing Curse, Avada Kedavara. He was unstoppable, Grindelwald was oppressing and slowly overcoming even the best of them. He had swooped down over their homestead one night...Rose had been his first victim. He did not get the chance to curse Dumbledore. In a fierce and overpowering moment, Dumbledore had overcome Grindelwald. He had sworn that night to never let his power overcome him again...his love, his Rose...he came out of his reverie. He saw himself and Rose, and shed a single tear for what never could be. He turned his back on the Mirror and avowed to keep himself from this trap again.   
  
Dumbledore looked up. The footsteps coming down the corridor were unmistakably Harry's. The boy appeared from under the cloak, and crossed the room with a look of deep satisfaction. Dumbledore watched him intently, and when the time was right, he spoke.   
  
"So---back again, Harry?" 


End file.
